


Firsthand and Front Row Seat

by CitrusVanille



Series: Video Killed the Radio Star [1]
Category: McFly
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: It's revenge, pure and simple, when Tom snags the corkscrew off the dressing room table and jimmies the lock on the toilet door.





	Firsthand and Front Row Seat

It’s revenge, pure and simple, when Tom snags the corkscrew off the dressing room table and jimmies the lock on the toilet door. Revenge for every fucking time Harry’s done this to him.

Tom hits the ‘record’ button on the video camera and shoves the door open, primed to grab the roll of toilet tissue and laugh his head off. But Harry’s hunched over by the sink, head down, one hand gripping the porcelain rim so hard the knuckles have gone white.

“Fuck, Harry, are you –” Tom starts to ask, first instinct to panic that his drummer is violently ill less than an hour before they have to be on stage. But the second Tom begins to speak, Harry gasps and spins around, and. No, not ill.

“Tom,” Harry rasps, and Tom knows he’s close. Knows he’s right on the edge. Can tell by the way his eyelids flutter, by the flush that smears his cheeks, by the way the hand he’s worked inside his jeans is still moving fast and frantic like he physically cannot stop.

And Tom. Tom can’t move. Can’t stop staring at the shape of Harry’s hand moving under the layers of cotton and denim.

“Tom,” Harry hisses, “Tom, please –”

Tom wrenches his gaze up to Harry’s face, meets Harry’s fever-bright eyes with his own, and.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, jerks, and comes, eyes rolling closed as he shudders, free hand catching at the wall for support as his legs shake under him.

“Fucking hell,” Tom whispers, and flees, letting the door slam shut behind him, video camera still clutched tight in one hand.


End file.
